


Christmas Dreaming

by distantstarlight



Series: 12 Lays of Christmas [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Fever Dreams, Fluff and Humor, Hallucinations, John is briefly ill, M/M, Post series 4, Sherlock is conflicted, Sick John, due to fever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 08:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John Watson has fallen ill and is having the strangest dreams. While caught up in the confusion of it all, John spills a tiny secret he's been keeping.





	Christmas Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to post first thing in the morning and was gone away from my laptop until now so sorry for the minor delay but here it is.

John was startled out of a perfectly lovely nap by the loud complaining voice of his flatmate, “John, _why_ am I wearing this ridiculous outfit?” Sherlock sounded querulous, “While it is soft and very comfortable, I don’t believe I would wear this by choice.”

John turned over on the sofa to look. He blinked. Sherlock was wearing a rather daring and festive ensemble. It was…interesting. The detective’s slim waist was being coaxed into a more hourglass configuration by a corset that was decorated to look like a piece of gingerbread, the seams all picked out with fat bands of white fabric icing. A large cherry coloured gumdrop was saucily set right in the centre of Sherlock’s chest, in line with where John presumed Sherlock’s nipples were, another over his friend’s navel, and the last one rather pointedly set over Sherlock’s groin. A puffy skirt in a matching shade did nothing at all to obscure the detective’s generous backside, and the puffy sleeves that adorned the upper portion of Sherlock’s otherwise bared arms looked like gingerbread edged with swirls of icing. A little tiara topped with a glittering ribbon bow twinkled in Sherlock’s curls, and to finish the look off, Sherlock’s lips were candy-cane red, as were the two small circles of red carefully painted on his cheeks.

John couldn’t speak. Sherlock’s outfit might have come off as embarrassingly ludicrous on anyone else, but somehow John’s best friend managed to make it into a coquettish tease, a sweet yet fiery temptation that needed to be denied if John had the willpower.

He didn’t.

“John, why are you kneeling in front of me and drooling?” John was doing exactly that, and he had no words but Gingerbread Sherlock did. “John, if you wanted to look up my skirt, all you needed to do was ask.” Sherlock’s tone was naughty and inviting so John nodded, and Sherlock lifted the bit of fabric up. John stopped breathing. Sherlock’s stockings were all he had on, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide Sherlock’s bollocks nor his cock. “I expect that I’m a present for you John, you’d best unwrap me.” His deep rumbling voice was so seductive.

John nodded, more than willing to uncover the milky expanse of Sherlock’s perfectly tuned transport. _He_ _’d had so many thoughts about Sherlock and now, it was literally Christmas. He didn_ _’t know what he wanted to do first._ “Go on, John, touch me.” John reached out and cupped Sherlock through the stockings and they both gasped. “Take everything off of me, John.”

John tugged away the stockings until Sherlock was bare beneath his little skirt. His cock was still hiding shyly in its foreskin, but John put his mouth right on it anyway. Sherlock’s fingers were in his hair and he was gasping John’s name repeatedly in a voice that _wasn_ _’t_ as flirtatious, “John, John! John! John what are you doing! John, wake up!”

He must have misheard that because John was in heaven. He loved how thick Sherlock’s cock was getting, and how delicious he smelled, and how wonderful he tasted. Having a cock in his mouth was better than he’d dreamed it could be. He’d long wondered what it would be like, if it would be awful, but it wasn’t. John loved the way the head rubbed against his tongue, how it felt to let it block the top of his throat, the way it made him salivate. He moaned, and wrapped his arms tight, keeping himself close to his treat.

Sherlock’s words were breathy and strangely high-pitched, “John, you are remarkably tenacious for a man so very ill. While I am enjoying this immensely, I feel the need to urge you to cease. _Oh, bloody hell, that thing you just did with your tongue was brilliant, do that again, yes, just like that_ ,” the detective groaned deeply before guiltily adding, _“No, I mean stop!_ _”_ John’s eyes were closed as he glutted himself on the feel of Sherlock’s cock in his mouth, but he could still feel the delicate way Sherlock’s fingers fluttered against his hair before two gentle hands cupped the back of his head. _Sherlock had said he was enjoying it and John was too. He didn_ _’t want to stop. It felt too good and he_ _’d wanted this for so long_. John cupped Sherlock’s bollocks in one hand and rolled them a tiny bit, “Oh, John.”

John pulled off for a second, “It’s so hot in here.” He pulled off his pyjamas and began to tear off the tattered remains of Sherlock’s candy coverings, getting to his feet to do so.

“You have a fever, John.” Sherlock stopped talking again when John mouthed wet sloppy kisses along his throat while he fisted his friend’s cock. After a shocked moan of delight, Sherlock choked out a few more words, “John, I fear that you are mostly asleep and having a rather erotic dream featuring me. I, however, am _not_ asleep making this…adventure…somewhat illegal as I cannot obtain your consent for sexual acts while you are in this continuing state. I hope you can hear me because you are currently sucking the intellect right out of me, _oh bloody hell, John,_ _your_ _mouth_ , because I am not sure how boundaries are being defined currently due to the aforementioned consent problem. If you were awake and not so feverish as to be hallucinating I would give you my most sincere and eager _yes_ to indulge in any perverse or erotic act you could name. Right now, my main source of confusion is regarding the determination of which one of us is being molested, _oh god, do that again_.”

Sherlock’s words washed meaninglessly over John’s head. _He had a delightful treat right in front of him and he was going to savour each and every tender morsel of it like a man starving_. Taking their clothing off was a good idea, Sherlock’s body was long and cool compared to the stouter firebrand that John currently felt like. _He needed to cool off, and what better way than to transfer his extra warmth to Sherlock?_ “I want to fuck you.”

“Oh god, yes, John!” Sherlock found himself face down on the sofa in a trice, “I mean, _no_ , we shouldn’t! Wake up, John, _oh my god look at the size of your cock now, I want it in me immediately_ , I mean, _no,_ we really _really_ shouldn’t. John, are you awake or are you asleep?”

“You’re the most beautiful cookie in the universe.”

“Asleep, all right.” Sherlock tried to stand up, but John pushed his face back down and rubbed two fingers along the crease of his arse, “Naughty, John! You are dreaming. Wake up, Watson.”

“You’re so hot. I want you to melt in my mouth.”

“You’re the one who is literally hot, John. Wake up!”

“I need to fuck you, make you mine.”

“I’m already yours, you fool, wake up, John, please wake up. I don’t want this to happen this way!”

“It’s so hot. You’re so hot.”

 _“You have a fever, John._ _”_ Sherlock gasped out once more in a high-pitched voice as John rubbed two dry fingers over his sensitive hole, “Shower,” he cried out desperately, “We should shower first. Okay, John? Shower first, then sex. Come on, lover, let’s go take a nice _cool_ shower and get ready for the very-consensual-I-am-not-raping-my flatmate-sex.”

 _Mmm. Water running all over Sherlock_ _’s alabaster skin? Plastering his curls against his scalp? Flat rivulets of liquid pouring all over that perfect body? Yes, please!_ John was practically dragging Sherlock toward the loo, and for the first time all night, his friend wasn’t trying to slow him down. Bare arsed, they raced to the shower. Sherlock turned it on so that tepid water rained down, “This is what I find sexiest, John.” John shrugged. _Whatever it took to keep his beautiful man naked. The water really was refreshing. Sherlock_ _’s body seemed to get warmer, or was his body cooling off?_ He couldn’t tell but it felt incredibly good just to stand under the showerhead and let it all cascade over him. After a minute, he even forgot that he had planned on fucking Sherlock for three days straight.

Sherlock.

_Oh dear._

John opened his eyes. Sherlock stood before him looking like a drowned rat. His curls were certainly plastered over his skull, but it didn’t look sensual or erotic. Sherlock looked blue-lipped and he was clearly shivering. _Why was Sherlock naked? Why did they both have erections? What was going on?_ “Sherlock, why are we in a cold shower?”

“John? John are you awake? _All_ the way awake?” John blinked and rethought the last while. He paled, covered his face with his hands and pressed himself backwards until the taps gave him a very intimate reminder that they were present. “John?”

“Oh. My. God.” John was so embarrassed. “I am sorry. I am so sorry, Sherlock. That was so uncalled for. I am so sorry! I don’t know how you’re ever going to forgive me.”

“Oh, John, you’re finally coherent!” Sherlock stepped close and wrapped his arms around John in a relieved hug, “You are so sick right now, John. We’re in here to get your fever down.”

“You were a sexy piece of gingerbread.” John still felt very dazed and confused.

“That explains why you were trying to eat me.” Sherlock was scooping handfuls of water over John’s head since the doctor didn’t want to remain under the spray.

“I wanted your gumdrop buttons in my mouth. You taste so sweet.” John could once again see the frosting he wanted so desperately, hungrily attempting to drop to his knees once more.

Sherlock hefted him right back onto his feet, reaching for the taps as he did so. “I’m turning the hot water completely off, you’re still feverish.”

The cold water chilled John just enough for him to exclaim, “I sucked you off!”

“Not all the way! You get top marks for effort though, I’m going to be aroused for days.” Sherlock heaved a regretful sigh and let John go, “Come on, under the water. Let’s cool you off, get you dry, and get you to bed for no sex but lots of sleeping.”

“You smell so nice, my little cookie.” John’s temperature was being stubborn but how could he resist the deliciously complex confection right in front of him?

“Your fever clearly fluctuates rapidly. I’ll have to watch you. _No sex!_ You can sleep in my room, John, my bedding smells like me too, no crumbs though, and also, let me remind you, _no sex_.”

“I bet your bed will be very nice. I love being places you spend time in.” John was still a bit bleary but not so gone that he missed the fond and tolerant smile on Sherlock’s face, “I love you, Sherlock, you’re my very best friend. I’d marry you if you were the marrying kind, but I know you’re not, that’s why I’ve never asked, not that you’d ever settle for someone like me. Don’t tell yourself, okay, it’s a secret that I’ve been completely gone on you for years now. Shhh.”

Sherlock’s hands stopped moving. He stood still for a minute before slowly shutting the water off and leading John from the shower. After John was dried and in a pair of clean pyjamas, Sherlock spoke again, “When you are better, John, and _if_ you recall this conversation, I hope you remember that I would humbly accept _any_ proposal from you because your feelings are most heartily returned. You are my very best friend too, John, and I will only ever marry you, should you see fit to reward me with such a question.”

Sherlock led John to his bed, as promised, and tucked the exhausted yet mumbling doctor in. “Love you, Sherlock. I’ll suck you off proper in the morning.”

“If you still want to, John. We’ll have to see how you feel. Sleep now, my brave soldier.” Sherlock’s hand carded through John’s damp hair, stroking it gently until John slipped into slumber, sleeping deeply as his fever finally broke.

“Hmm, typical motor reflexes for a British male in his fourth decade, temperature only one degree above normal, an average rate of breath, heart-beat well within the normal range…John? John, do you know who I am? What do you see, John?”

Sherlock’s voice seemed very far away and was a bit more concerned than John could make sense of. The doctor opened his eyes. The world was out of focus, but a good scrub with the heels of his hands cleared most of the sleep away. John now saw that Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his brows knitted with worry, “What’s wrong?”

The worry melted away, “Good. John. Good, very good. You’re so much more coherent now answer my question, what do you see?”

“My great huge git of a friend wearing the same pyjamas he had on three days ago? Why am I in your bed? Why are you watching me? What’s going on? Why do I feel so weak?”

There was an odd expression on Sherlock’s face, something that looked a lot like regret as well as disappointment. “Exactly so, Doctor Watson.” Sherlock gracefully unfolded himself and stood beside the bed, his face an expressionless mask. “You had a brief but lively fever, it seems to have broken. I’ll go make some tea, you could probably do with something to drink. Fancy breakfast? I’m not certain what your post-illness protocols are.”

“Tea would be lovely.” John lay there feeling crusty and out-of-sorts. His head ached a bit and he desperately wanted a shower but felt too weak to get up without building up toward it. “I don’t think I can manage food quite yet.”

Sherlock left, his face still a blank, and it made John wonder. Sherlock was obviously bothered by something, but John didn’t know what. He felt so tired still, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep except that his mouth was dry and he could murder for a cuppa. It seemed to take a long while before Sherlock came back, long enough that John was considering the wisdom of trying to get up to make his own cup of tea. Just as he had decided to give it a go, the bedroom door opened and Sherlock walked in holding a large tea service, “Apologies, I made the error of telling Mrs Hudson that you weren’t well and she insisted I go down to her flat so she could put together a few things to help you feel better. I would have done it but she was quite determined as well as chatty.”

Sherlock looked genuinely apologetic for making John wait so long and it was odd. The detective seemed to have no care for his own discomfort, setting the tea-service on the available bed-space and kneeling on the carpet next to John to serve him a steaming hot cup of tea. “This is lovely, thanks.”

There were several things on the tray. Mrs Hudson had a predilection for investing herself in baking marathons, and very often passed along the extras to her tenants. John examined the tray and wondered if eating biscuits for breakfast was a good idea, or if he should try something that would be gentle on his tummy whilst he was a bit under the weather. The cake caddy that she had provided had three tiers of items to choose from. John could eat his fill of squares, tiny pies, or even extensively decorated cookies that had been cut out in large variety of shapes. Only two were unfrosted so John chose one and had a bite. The warm soothing flavour of ginger burst on his tongue and suddenly, memories washed over John. “Oh my god, _gingerbread you!_ _”_

Sherlock was looking at John intently, “What do you recall?”

John felt entirely unprepared for this encounter and he only had himself to blame. _He_ _’d outed himself, no one had spilt his secret, he_ _’d done it himself. His friendship with Sherlock was over. He_ _’d have to leave 221 B Baker Street. He_ _’d die alone in some council flat someplace crumbly and filled with black mould_. Sherlock could never forgive him for this presumption. He’d made himself clear right from the start. He’d said…

He’d said…

_I will only ever marry you, should you see fit to reward me with such a question._

Clarity hit John like a bus. _Sherlock loved him back. He wanted more with John than just friendship. Sherlock was willing to marry John, all John needed to do was ask._

Well, there was no time like the present, right? “If I didn’t feel so wobbly, I’d do this a bit differently.” John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand in his, “Sherlock, you are my very best friend in the entire world, and I can’t even figure out how it would be possible to love and admire someone else more than I love and admire you. Sherlock William Scott Holmes, would you agree to stop pretending how much I mean to you and openly commit to a romantic relationship with me for as long as we can manage it?”

Sherlock’s face did a strange little dance where he tried to keep his blank mask on but feelings kept breaking through his control barriers. “John, I hope you’re not still feverish again.” Feelings were winning out. Sherlock looked a bit wild around the eyes, his sharp cheeks pale as his multicoloured eyes tried to collect every visual clue he could detect.

“I remember what I was dreaming about, and what I said. I told you to keep it a secret from me but I don’t really want you to. I want it to be out in the open for anyone to see because you and I have been hiding from one another for far too long, I feel. Our lives are a crazy mess that only ever makes sense when we’re together. Yes, I was off my head when I told you but it wasn’t a lie. I love you, Sherlock. I thought I was being a good friend by keeping that information from you because you said you were married to your work, but I’m rather hoping you might be willing to be married to me instead. You can slag around with the work on the side, I don’t mind.”

“You always were a bit of a voyeur, John.” Sherlock's eyes were gentle now, and filled with something that John knew had been hidden away inside his friend, love. “I believe you are right, John. We have been hiding from one another, and it has indeed been far too long a time to keep such pointless secrets. I accept. I am very willing to marry you, John, but when it comes to the Work, I’m going to ask for a threesome. I can’t do it without you.”

John grinned, “Well, then that’s that.” In keeping with their no-point-in-hiding-stuff-anymore proposal, John reached out his hand, “Kiss to seal the deal?”

Sherlock smiled. Leaning forward, the detective bit his plush lower lip nervously for a moment before leaning in further to press his mouth to John’s. Both men were silent and unmoving for a very long time and they seemed to come to their senses as one. “I agree to the threesome, but only with the work. I don’t share.”

“Neither do I, I’m rather jealous.” John knew it very well, in hindsight. Sherlock had never played well with John’s other friends and had been downright monstrous with John’s many dates. “Since we are technically engaged, do you think it’s all right if I get into bed with you, just to…” Sherlock trailed off and was suddenly blushing a ridiculous amount.

“Cuddle?” John grinned again at Sherlock’s discomfiture. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. I’d love it in fact. Come here, love, as much as you want, whenever you want.” Sherlock moved right on in and was soon huddled against John’s slightly over-warm body, with John’s left arm draped over his narrow shoulders. John knew that Sherlock was touch-starved and promised himself to make up for the lack. His illness had opened a door he’d never thought to see through, and now, there were so many paths to explore. He couldn’t wait. Right now, John Watson was the happiest ill man in London, safe in bed with his husband-to-be, and in the dawning hours of a whole new life. “I love you, Biscuit.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sherlock sounded incredibly offended but at the same time his cheeks pinked and his face had a very happy look to it.

“I’m going to always call you that, Biscuit. You’re my sweet decadent treat, and I love you.” Both men laughed as they nibbled their way through Mrs Hudson’s tray until John was drowsing once more. Sherlock left the bed only long enough to set the mostly empty tray on the floor before climbing under the covers with John. Closing his eyes, John drifted off, happy knowing that the person he loved most in the world was safe by his side, watching over him, and waiting for the next step on their shared journey.

 

 


End file.
